Sepulchre
by mille libri
Summary: The King of Ferelden succumbs to the Calling, journeying to the Deep Roads where his love has been entombed for many years. Alistair/F!Aeducan, one-shot.


_I went around for several weeks with the last stanza of "Annabel Lee" stuck in my head. When I finally dug out my copy of the poem, I thought it seemed apropos. I'm not wild about what happened with the formatting in the upload, but you get the idea. Note: This is not the same Aeducan as in "No Armor Against Fate"._

_Standard disclaimer: BioWare owns Dragon Age and Edgar Allan Poe (or one of his heirs!) owns "Annabel Lee"._

* * *

_It was many and many a year ago,_

_In a kingdom by the sea,  
That a maiden there lived whom you may know_

_By the name of Annabel Lee_

Wind whistled around the walls of the castle. In his study, the King of Ferelden sat in front of a crackling fire, a wine goblet in his hand. He drank down the contents, pouring another glassful. He felt the steady thrumming in his veins, the reminder that his time was almost up. His nights were tormented, and even during the day he had a hard time keeping his mind off the horrific images that filled his dreams. It wouldn't be long now.

But underneath the nightmares and the steady call of the darkspawn in his blood, another sensation was building up. A longing, an anticipation that teased at his senses. Because she would be there. Not in the flesh, of course. All that had ended when she'd plunged her sword into the Archdemon's head all those years ago. But when he went down into the stone halls where her body had been taken, to her final resting place, her sepulchre, he knew he would feel her all around him, as though all the years between them had dropped away. It made contemplating his imminent journey to Orzammar almost pleasurable.

I _was a child and _she_ was a child,_

_In this kingdom by the sea;_

_But we loved with a love that was more than love—_

_I and my Annabel Lee;_

_With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven_

_Coveted her and me._

He had packed the few things he intended to take with him. Now he turned to the woman standing beside him, the woman who had stood beside him through all these long years. The wife of his maturity. Her devotion to him, to the kingdom, and to the welfare of their two sons had never faltered, and in return, he had given her his respect and affection. But she had never claimed the fullness of his heart. That had been lost long ago, given with all the abandon of youth to the valiant warrior who had died to save him. To save the whole kingdom. And who had loved him in return with everything she had to give.

Putting a hand out, he touched the Queen's face. He knew she didn't entirely understand what was going on, why he needed to go. They'd been over it several times, but she still insisted there must be some way, some magic, maybe, to stop the taint from taking over his blood. He couldn't seem to convince her that it was too late. The damage had been done and could not be repaired. He was tired enough now that he didn't even want to stay. He'd done his part for the nation long ago. It was his son's turn to take over now. The boy was far more prepared than he'd ever been.

_And this was the reason that, long ago,_

_In this kingdom by the sea,_

_A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling_

_My beautiful Annabel Lee; _

_So that her highborn kinsmen came_

_And bore her away from me,_

_To shut her up in a sepulchre_

_In this kingdom by the sea._

The King paused his horse outside the gates of Denerim, taking a last look back. Fort Drakon loomed over the city. If he closed his eyes, he could still see and hear it all, exactly as though it had been yesterday. The screaming of the wounded, the Archdemon's great shriek, fighting his way from the gates where she had left him up the steps, bursting onto the roof too late. He had gathered the small body up in his arms, holding her to him, calling her name, as if somehow she could hear him. It had taken three men to drag him away from her. And then he'd stood there, surrounded by people she'd cared about, with her body lying before him, hoping he was saying something coherent. All he could think was that this was the last time. That after this moment, they'd take her away, build her a sepulchre somewhere in the Deep Roads, and she would belong to the Stone from which she had come, no longer to him.

Now he turned the horse's head back toward the west. His sons watched from the gates as he went, resigned but proud. All their good-byes had been said. After all, he'd been preparing them for this day their whole lives. They were strong boys. They belonged to the future, now, when all he could see was the past.

_The angels, not half so happy in heaven,_

_Went envying her and me—_

_Yes!—That was the reason (as all men know,_

_In this kingdom by the sea)_

_That the wind came out of the cloud by night_

_Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee._

He huddled in a blanket near a fire. As he had so many times before, all those years ago. Ghosts huddled with him … the mabari, who had pined away for his mistress, never able to imprint on anyone else. The mage, who had gone away traveling and come back years later to die at last in the Circle Tower that had been her home for so long. The qunari, who had left for his homeland as soon as the Archdemon was dead and she was buried. The witch, who had disappeared the night before the final battle. The assassin, who had slipped away one day, never to be heard from again. The bard, who had gone with an expedition to the Temple of Andraste, and disappeared into the snow and the weight of mythology. And her, the commander, the one who had brought them all together and kept them together. Now here he was, the boy warrior, the last one left. Alone at the fire.

The laughter came back to him most vividly. For such a disparate group, they'd found an awful lot to laugh about. He had missed those nights when they were over—sleeping in a real bed in a palace by himself paled in comparison to the long nights on bedrolls on the cold ground … but with her. If he tried hard enough now, he could almost feel the small body curled up against him. Occasionally he would doze, always to be jerked awake. Sometimes by the standard nightmares, the screaming and the call of the darkspawn. But other times, and infinitely more painfully, he would dream of her. Holding her in his arms, kissing her, and then cruelly wakened by the wind cutting through the blanket. He longed to finish just one dream.

_But our love it was stronger by far than the love_

_Of those who were older than we—_

_Of many far wiser than we—_

_And neither the angels in heaven above,_

_Nor the demons down under the sea,_

_Can ever dissever my soul from the soul_

_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee._

The halls of Orzammar stretched high above him. The statue of her, commissioned when they made her a Paragon—too little too late, if you asked him—stood before him. His heart swelled, feeling nearer her already. Everything about the spacious underground city called to him in her voice, and it was as if the years that had weighed so heavily on him were falling away. He had wondered, looking in the mirror at the face of the King, if she would even recognize him, if she could see him today. Now he felt the strength of the young Grey Warden coursing through him. Or was it the proximity to the darkspawn, causing their taint to pulse in his bloodstream?

As he descended further into the earth, he felt her closer and closer to him. He wondered if she had always been here. Would he have felt her like this if he had come to the Deep Roads long before now? The bond between the two of them was as strong as it always had been. He could almost hear her calling for him, and his steps quickened, his sword smashing through the darkspawn in his way. The King's fighting skills had been rusty, but the Grey Warden remembered every stance, every slash, every battle cry. Was her ghost next to him, blades flying?

_For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams_

_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_

_And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes_

_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_

_And so, all the night-tide_

_I lie down by the side_

_Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride_

_In her sepulchre there by the sea—_

_In her tomb by the side of the sea._

Groaning, he dragged himself along the dusty tunnels. It was almost over. He could feel the blessed relief hovering somewhere just beyond his field of vision. But before he could give in, he had to reach her. He navigated the pathways, feeling his life's blood, that tainted, cursed blood that had so dominated every part of his life, slowly pumping itself out of his body. Hearing the rush of the lava river with its metallic scent.

At last he could see it. Somehow he could sense it, feel her inside it. His love, lying there in her sepulchre deep in the core of Thedas, holding his heart in her hands. He propped himself up against it with difficulty, leaning back, feeling the life ebbing from him. His eyes glazed over, the darkness closing in on him. He could almost hear her laughter in his ear, and he smiled, waiting there for her. And the tomb of the Hero of Ferelden became the sepulchre of her king, together again after all the lonely years.


End file.
